There are things in this world far darker and more sinister than Voldemort, things that prey on negative emotions and seek to possess only to harm. Death, pain and despair has come to Privet Drive. ON HOLD

Title: PossessionAuthor: Mistress NikaRating: RSummary: Post OotP/Pre HBP
There are things in this world far darker and more sinister than
Voldemort; things that prey on negative emotions and seek to possess
only to harm. Harry, an emotional teenager full of negative emotions
after the death of his Godfather, is left vulnerable to creatures not
taught on the Hogwarts syllabus, nor anywhere else in the wizarding
world. Death, pain and despair has come to Privet Drive.Chapters:
1/3Pairings: minor Ron/HermoineWarnings: AU, angst, violence,
DarkHarry, overall creepinessDisclaimer: I do not own Harry
Potter.Notes: A darker twist to all
those coming of age fics out there where Harry becomes a magical
creature or gets revenge on the Dursleys.

Chapter One: Possession

There was a persistent chill in the air
at number four Privet Drive despite it being the peak of summer.
Breath condensed and the occupants went about in long coats and thick
wool socks. When the front door was opened, if it could be opened,
there was a noticeable difference in temperature between the house
and the outside world. Of course, that was assuming one particular
unwelcome occupant of the quaint, not-so-normal home was in a good
mood and allowed the door to open.

It all started two weeks after he
came back.

Petunia noticed a distinct odor, much
like how rotten eggs might smell if left unattended in the trash for
a long period of time. It was faint at first, prompting her to check
the pantry and fridge for any expired food. Finding none, she took
out the trash, hoping that would cure it. It didn't.

The next day it was worse and even
Vernon and Dudley complained. They called a professional to check if
there was a septic back-up. There wasn't. They could find no cause
for the sudden, horrid stench that had invaded number four.

It was on the fifth day of enduring the
smell that a terrified scream woke the house. Vernon and Petunia
rushed to their son's room to find his bed...floating...with him on
it, terrified. As they approached, the bed began to spin wildly,
forcing them back against the wall and Dudley to cling on for dear
life. After roughly two minutes that felt like an eternity for those
involved, the bed suddenly froze and crashed back to the floor. The
three Dursleys spent the rest of the night huddled in the living
room, scared out of their wits.

The next morning, they made sure to
blame the fourth member of the household. After all, it was
obviously his kind of freakishness. The boy, soon to be sixteen,
took it all in stride. He was used to such things.

A lull occurred then. Two weeks passed
and nothing out of the normal happened. The stench, while still
present, faded to an almost unnoticeable level.

Then the voices began. Petunia was
alone in the house, her husband and son having gone out for the day
to visit her sister-in-law, Marge. Even the boy was off with his
freakish friends. She was scrubbing viciously at a tiny spot of dirt
on the kitchen counter when she heard her name called from the living
room. Thinking someone had returned home without her noticing, she
called back that she was in the kitchen. No one answered and she
thought perhaps she had simply imagined it. Just as she went back to
work, she heard it again. It was a woman's voice this time and very
familiar. She called back, "I'm in here, Marge!", but no
one answered. This time, being the good hostess she was, she went to
meet the person. However, the living room was empty and there was no
sign anyone had returned home. She looked around a few moments in
confusion before she heard her name called again, this time from the
kitchen where she had been previously. It was the same woman's
voice, but it wasn't Marge's. With a horrible shriek of terror, she
fled the house post haste, running to her neighbors and refusing to
go home until her husband arrived. Kindly Ms. Bean called Marge's at
once and informed the man of the situation.

Vernon came rushing home, only to find
his wife in a state of shock. All she would do was repeat her
sister's name over and over, claiming she was being punished for her
crimes against Lily's son. It took five days to coax her back into
number four. The boy had no problem staying there alone for the time
it took to convince her.

Upon their return, it only got worse.
The temperature dropped steadily until ice sickles began to form and
doors froze shut. They became trapped in their house, now their
nightmare. Voices cursed and hissed at them from nowhere and shadows
wrapped around them each night, strangling them in their sleep. They
tried to call for help, but the phone lines were nothing but static
with a menacing laugh in the background. Never had the Dursleys been
more frightened for their lives than now.

In the midst of it all, one person
alone remained apparently untouched. Harry Potter had not emerged
from his room since his relatives had foolishly returned to their
home. He was not, however, untouched. In fact, most would say, he
was the most effected of all.

He no longer slept, nor ate. He merely
sat with his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly
around them, rocking himself continuously with vacant eyes. His room
was covered in a thick sheet of ice, all save his bed upon which he
sat. Sometimes he would murmur to himself in low tones for endless
hours the same string of words.

Like a broken record, he would intone,
"All my fault. All my fault. All my fault." After an
hour or so, he would pause briefly and switch to, "Their fault.
Their fault. Their fault." Then it would become, "Make
them pay. Make them pay. Make them pay." Occasionally, his
eyes would become slightly less vacant, a dark gleam taking up
residence as a twisted smile pulled at his lips. His words would
change to, "Make them hurt. Make them hurt. Make them hurt.
Kill them. Kill them. Kill them."

One might wonder, where is the Order in
all this? Aren't they supposed to be watching their precious savior?
The answer to that question is quite simple. They felt their
threats to the Dursleys were all that was needed. With suspicions of
a spy within their ranks, they refused to send a guard to Privet
Drive. Instead, upon the orders of their esteemed leader, they left
well enough alone. They would forever regret that decision.

July thirty-first came with a bang. It
was just after midnight when Albus Dumbledore was rudely awakened by
alarms alerting to dangerous magic being used in a certain home in
Surrey. Normally, the alarms would have reported the infraction to
the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. However, using his sway
in the Ministry, he convinced everyone that it was best if he was
alerted instead.

Checking the type of spells used, he
immediately flooed to Grimmauld Place and called an emergency meeting
of the Order of the Phoenix.

"The wards around Harry Potter's
home, while still intact, are reporting dangerous levels of advanced
Dark magic being performed," he informed the bleary-eyed wizards
and witches present. Almost instantly, they reacted by snapping to
attention and looking grave. "Only one curse has been
registered," he continued, "and that is the Unforgivable
Killing Curse." With that, he led the group to the home nearly
an hour too late.

As they arrived, they learned the door
was apparently spelled shut and were forced to destroy it to gain
entry. Inside, the battle hardened Aurors and Order members were
shocked by what they found.

The house looked like a frozen
wasteland. Ice clung to the walls and floor and the furniture was
indistinguishable from miniature glacial snow drifts. In the middle
of the floor, three bodies lay lifeless. Their eyes were open and
glassy, staring straight up at nothing; their forms encased in more
ice as if they had been frozen alive. A quick check by Dumbledore
proved this false. They had all been struck by a single powerful
Killing Curse and their bodies frozen after.

The search for their beloved golden boy
began quickly and ended just the same.

Nymphodora Tonks found him, huddled
beside the couch. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms
wrapped around himself and his head buried in them. In his hand, he
held his wand.

"Harry?" she asked
tentatively, not wanting to startle the boy. Receiving no reply, she
moved closer and shook his shoulder gently while calling his name.

A high scream echoed through the house,
bringing everyone running to find the pink-haired witch staring in
horror into the soulless black eyes of the Boy Who Lived.

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